


In Response to The Pandemic Special

by Temporarily



Category: South Park
Genre: Fix-It, Fluff, Friendship, Fuck 2020, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Isolation, Kyle's a good friend, Probably OOC but I have reached the point that I Do Not Care, Randy is an asshole, Stan's not having a good time, The Pandemic Special (South Park), Touch-Starved, with a subtle make-stan-do-self-care agenda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28450152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Temporarily/pseuds/Temporarily
Summary: Stan Marsh deserves a god damn hug and maybe a Build-A-Bear. Kyle delivers.
Relationships: Kyle Broflovski & Stan Marsh, No Romantic Relationship(s)
Kudos: 11





	In Response to The Pandemic Special

**Author's Note:**

> Kyle should have hugged Stan. You know the moment I’m talking about.  
> So, this is a fix-it.

The last thing Stan was expecting in the time of corona was a visitor. Which was why he couldn’t be blamed for sleeping until eleven. Hey, it was a Saturday, he didn’t have to do virtual school. He didn’t feel like spending more time on his phone or writing any songs. He couldn’t go into town and see the new Terrance and Phillip movie—which was also delayed due to corona—or see his friends. And at this point he would do just about anything to avoid his family.

He had woken up at some point in the middle of the night to the smell of wildfire smoke and blindly reached across his bedside table and put on his mask, hoping it would help. Now he was blinking awake wondering why the light was saturated orange and slanting through the blinds into his eyes at an angle that let him know it was way earlier than eleven or twelve, when he’d intended to wake up.

“Dude, what are you still doing in bed? Haven’t you eaten breakfast yet?” Stan blinked a few times. Huh. Maybe quarantine was starting to get to him. He could swear that was Kyle leaning over him.

Then his best friend gave his shoulder another shake and he realized that _was_ Kyle leaning over him. His mask was half-off and covered in drool and he probably had bed-head and Kyle was _here????_

“Wha--?” he croaked unintelligibly.

“I got my Covid test back and it’s negative!” Kyle said, pulling on Stan’s arm until he sat up. Every kid at South Park Elementary had received the elusive test after their great escape. It was perhaps the one good thing to come out of that whole nightmare. “And I’ve been social distancing like crazy ever since I got it—handwashing, hand sanitizer, masks twenty-four-seven, gloves, disinfectant wipes, I barely even left my room—and I called your mom this morning to ask what your results were and you’re negative too! Do you know what this means?” Stan stared at him blankly, still half asleep.

“…We don’t have Covid?”

“Yeah, and I can do this!” And with that his best friend tackled him in the biggest— _ow—_ most crushing hug he’d ever received in his life. “I fucking missed you dude.”

Stan immediately teared up. How long had it been since he’d touched someone else? He didn’t tolerate anything more than hair-ruffles from his dad, who’d been too busy to pay any attention to him for a long while anyways. Shelly wasn’t exactly a cuddler. Sometimes, when she couldn’t stand limiting physical contact any longer his mom would hold her arms out and embrace him _desperately,_ like she needed it just to breathe. And that was alright. It was nice to feel needed.

This was like… for one fraction of a heartbeat it was like he’d never left South Park.

Stan took a deep, shuddering breath into Kyle’s shoulder and asked, “How—How did you even get here? Did your mom drive you?”

“I woke up early and rode my bike.” Stan pulled away to look at the redhead with wide, worried eyes.

“Dude! The air outside is _toxic!_ And you have asthma! And there’s a virus that _attacks your god damn lungs_ going around!”

“I brought my inhaler,” Kyle reassured him. “And masks, and water. I’m fine Stan, I swear, an hour outside won’t kill me. I just really wanted to see you.” Stan’s lower lip wobbled dangerously.

“Don’t jinx yourself dude. You’ve seen Death going around on his stupid little tricycle, right? Don’t… Just don’t.”

“Dude, I’m fine? See?” Kyle took a deep breath, held it for one, five, ten whole seconds—Stan counted—and exhaled without any difficulty. He smiled and repeated, “Totally fine. Oh hey, I have something for you!” He leaned over the edge of the bed and unzipped the backpack he brought with him. And then he handed Stan a Build-A-Bear.

Stan turned it over slowly in his hands. The heart was glued to the fur on the outside. The stuffing was lumpy and uneven. The stitching along the back from where whoever made it attempted to sew it up was painfully sloppy and obvious. Its blue hat was made out of the lopped-off toe of someone’s old sock with a red puff ball glued on top and holes for the ears to poke through.

“It was Butters’ idea,” Kyle explained. “He wanted to thank you for trying so hard to get him a Build-A-Bear, but we all helped. Even Cartman, weirdly enough. I might visit him next, he’s been like, unusually _nice_ recently? It honestly scares me.” Stan blinked. He blinked harder. He failed to prevent tears from slipping out and falling onto the misshapen stuffed bear, so he hugged it, conveniently hiding his face. When he didn’t emerge after about half a minute Kyle awkwardly shuffled over and put an arm around his shoulder.

Kyle wasn't great at the whole comforting people thing. That was more Stan’s role. Kyle tended to avoid messy tears like they’d make him break out in a rash. Stan honestly didn't even know _why_ he was crying at this point, there didn't seem to be a good reason. He wasn't even sobbing, just shaking uncontrollably as his eyes leaked no matter how much he tried to make them stop.

He leaned against Kyle and managed a wobbly smile from the sheer delight of having someone warm and _here_ and sure, he was always the secret cuddler in his family but man this pandemic must be fucking him up because he’s never been so clingy he genuinely felt like it would hurt something in his soul to pull away before.

And they made him a Build-A-Bear with lots of stitches and a red poof-ball hat whose heart is exposed. Kyle and Kenny and apparently Butters and hell, even Cartman. They kind of really do care.

Christ, okay, cry over, time to get ahold of himself.

…In like two more minutes.

Kyle handed him a tissue and said, “So, what do you want to do today?”

“…Get off this fucking farm,” Stan said with a grin.

“The wildfires…” Kyle reminded him and his face fell.

“Oh. Yeah, right.” God damn it. At least before he could go outside, so long as he didn’t _go_ anywhere. Now he was completely trapped inside the house.

“…Why don’t we just go to my house?” Kyle said.

“Are you sure? That’s like, two hours of heavy breathing in the smoke. You should probably stay here at least a little bit, make sure you’re not faint or dizzy before going back out.” Kyle noticed that Stan’s breathing was back to normal now. Would you look at that? He calmed right down as soon as he was given someone else to fuss over.

“Okay, what do we do in the meantime? Watch a movie, video games?”

“Fuck that, I’ve had enough of looking at screens for a whole year. Lets just like, shoot the shit and play pretend.”

“I’m down. You should probably get dressed and eat something though. And get a glass of water.”

“ _You_ get a glass of water!” Stan said, flinging his blankets back and getting out of bed with more enthusiasm than he probably had in months, picking a semi-clean shirt up off the floor and switching out his pajama top.

“Fine fine, we’ll both get water,” Kyle conceded. “Wanna hear about my ideas for pranking your dad and that stupid towel?” Stan stared at him like he’d just been told he was getting an all-expense paid trip to any location of his choice, or a puppy, or the cure to coronavirus.

“Dude. Don’t ever leave,” he said, only half-joking. Kyle laughed.

“You’d send me back after a week of me making sure you actually do your homework.” He hopped off the bed and walked into the hall with a glance over his shoulder and a smile. “Come on. Lets go eat.”

Later that afternoon, Randy Marsh walked into his weed barn to find his most recent special strand in ruins. The labels were all scribbled over. The mason jars were empty. Following the trail of little green clumps led him to the edge of the property they shared with those two old farmers. There he found the remains of his special, dumped in a sty of slop and being gorged on by pigs.

Apparently, pigs _could_ get high. Who knew?

Randy considered who the culprit of this dastardly crime might be. Was it:

  1. Shelly, who was being a disaffected teenager hiding in her room.
  2. Stan, who liked to act like he was a disaffected teenager hiding in his room and told him, “NobodyWANTSanother stupid special Dad!” just last night.
  3. Sharon, who spent most of the day running errands in South Park and has been telling him, “Nobody WANTS another stupid special Randy!” for weeks.



“SHARON!!!” Hiding in a nearby marijuana field, two boys giggled as they watched the weed farmer storming back to the house.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year's Eve. 🎉
> 
> I sincerely hope you have a better 2021.


End file.
